Skipping Rocks
by Muragaragah
Summary: Eight-year old America stands at the edge of a lake he has been forbidden to visit, skipping rocks until another boy appears on the opposite shore, someone who he has never seen. TWT/AU FACE family fic, main pairing is FrUK, actual names used.
1. Across the Lake

_**Disclaimer:** I don't own Hetalia. Copyrights go to Hidekaz Himaruya.  
>As always, reviews = love. They keep me writing.<br>Enjoy!~_

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><p>Skipping Rocks<p>

_Across the Lake._

Unseasonable fog ghosted over the placid waters of the formidable, glassy lake that stretched before the young, wheat-haired boy standing at its shore, adding a humid quality to the atmosphere and obscuring the usually-visible land on the other side. He gazed almost dazedly across the miniscule, choppy waves that rippled the water's surface, sliding his glasses up the bridge of his nose before jamming his hands into the pouch pocket on the front of his carmine hoodie. _Why doesn't Dad let me come over to this lake very much? It doesn't make sense… he acts like I'm gonna die if I get near it or something._

His crystalline, sky blue eyes frantically darted around his surroundings at the thought of his father, clarifying that the only semblance of family he possessed hadn't yet figured out where he was. Cool relief cracked over his head, spreading through his veins and tickling the spidery nerve connections lurking just underneath his apricot skin. He bent down to scoop up a flat rock smoothed by countless waves, cocked his wrist and tossed it over the cobalt water after a tiny wave crashed against the shore. The fog seemed to clear as the stone skipped across the mirror-like surface, smacking against the water four times before sinking into the unknown depths below. The boy grinned to himself as something shadowy moved across the lake, curious eyes reflexively snapping up to see what had moved on the edge of his periphery.

The silhouette of another young boy that had to have been as old as he was stood against the opposite shore, clutching something fluffy and white to his chest. The blonde could see that the visitor had champagne-hued hair like his own but the other's was slightly longer, adorned with a curly strand that seemed to jut away from the rest of his hair. The hoodie-clad boy's hand rose in a welcoming wave; the other seemed to hesitate for a few moments before mimicking the action. _I wonder who that is. I've never seen anyone else when I've come out here. How did he get over there? Did he wade through the water?_

"Hi!" he called after a minute, a summery smile breaking across his face at the possibility of making a new friend.

"_Alfred!"_

The boy's heart leapt into his throat and fluttered double time as he recognized the moderate voice that had called him. All thoughts about the boy across the lake vacated his mind as he deliberately spun around to face his father, withdrawing his hands from his pocket. The narrow-framed man, known to the world as Arthur Kirkland, stood only a few inches away from Alfred, his choppy flaxen hair dipping into fiery emerald eyes that burned with chagrin. His hands were balled into fists and placed on his hips, his back slightly arched to loom over his son who was only a few inches shorter than himself at only eight years old. His mouth pinched as he tried to calm himself down enough to form a coherent sentence before he inquired, "_What_ in the bloody hell do you think you're doing out here? I thought I've told you time and time again to stay away from this lake, but apparently the message hasn't sunk in yet!" The speed of his speech increased drastically as he rambled on; Alfred could have sworn he was sinking into the ground from the vexation that edged his father's voice. "Do you know how worried I was when I found that you weren't in your room? I thought you had run away, for god's sake! …I'm just glad I was wrong… but now it's time to go home. You're grounded for a week with no television or video games."

Alfred bit his bottom lip as his expression broke: he had never expected exactly how much trouble he would be in if he had gotten caught around this lake. "Yes, Dad," he muttered just loud enough for his father to hear before formidable fingers seized his wrist.

He held his tongue during the walk home as Arthur mumbled incessantly under his breath, all centering on the fact that Alfred had come out to the lake knowing that he had told him not to. Alfred's mind wandered as his body shifted into auto-pilot through the affair of dinner and getting ready for bed, flashing back to the foreign boy that he had somewhat met on the lake's opposite shore. He decided to ask his father about who lives on the other side of the lake in a few days' time—it would only end badly if he brought up anything having to do with that manmade body of water only hours after being caught standing on its sand.

He yanked the meticulously-made covers back and slid in-between freshly-laundered sheets adorned with superheroes and aliens, whisking his argentine frames off of his nose and placing them on the teak nightstand beside his bed. Cerulean eyes slid upward to meet now-calm chartreuse as Arthur bent over his son, wrapping his arms tightly around the boy. Alfred managed to slip an arm around his father and squeeze before the man pecked the middle of his forehead and straightened. "I love you," he murmured, ruffling Alfred's goldenrod hair affectionately, taking care not to disturb the extreme cowlick that stood triumphantly away from his head: it only served to irritate the child.

"I love you too, Dad," Alfred replied before flipping over onto his side, snatching the covers up to his chin.

"Goodnight," Arthur whispered, loud enough for his only son to hear as he switched off the spaceship-shaped lamp on the nightstand and vacated the room, closing the door until it clicked.

All of the muscles in Alfred's petite body seem to unwind as they relaxed, his luminescent eyes flickering closed after a few minutes. Just before he let the tender grip of sleep ensnare him, a thought rushed across the blank cavern of his mind: _I wonder if that boy will be there tomorrow after school…?_

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><p><em>To be continued.<em>


	2. The Runaway

_**Disclaimer:** I don't own Hetalia. Copyrights go to Hidekaz Himaruya.  
>As always, reviews = love. They keep me writing.<br>Enjoy!~_

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><p><em>The Runaway.<em>

Alfred painstakingly kept his eyes glued to the even concrete sidewalk that would inevitably lead to his home, attempting to resist the urge to hop onto the dirt trail that he would pass in a few paces that would take him to the taboo lake. _I don't get what's so wrong with that lake. Maybe it's poisoned? …I'll have to ask Dad about it tonight._ His arm rose as blueberry eyes flitted to the analog wristwatch coiled around his left wrist. _Dad won't be home for a whole half hour. I could go to the lake and then run home with time to spare! He won't ever find out I was even there._

An impish grin spread across his face as mischief stirred like a bundle of butterflies in his stomach. He bounded off of the sidewalk and onto the forbidden dirt trail, breaking into a manic dash as electric adrenaline surged through his veins. He truly hated to disobey his father, but this was something that seemed to call to him; some quality or other that haunted the lake had perpetually lured him to its edge every afternoon after school for the past two years. He shook his head, jarring the faint conscience in the back of his mind that echoed his father's warnings about the body of water as he gradually slowed to a stop, his feet now planted firmly upon the damp sand.

He peered over the calm water, his iceberg eyes bulging as he noticed that the blonde boy from yesterday had once again appeared today, sitting in a crouch beside the shore. Alfred noticed that the boy wore glasses almost identical to his own and cradled a fuzzy teddy-polar bear in his lap. "Hey!" Alfred shouted, waving his arms to catch the other boy's attention. "Are you the same boy that was here yesterday?"

The anonymous child stood up, meekly clutching the bear against his chest. One hand rose and waved in greeting before his voice spiked in reply, "_Oui,_ I was! You're the boy from yesterday?"

"Yeah! What's your name?" Alfred asked, having to focus on the other's words more than usual because of the airy, eloquent quality that distinguished his voice.

"Matthew! What's yours?"

"Alfred!"

"It's very nice to meet you, Alfred!" He could almost hear the amiable smile that undoubtedly stretched across Matthew's face in his tone.

"You too Matthew! Look, I have to get going now since I need to get home before my dad! He told me not to go near this lake yesterday because he hates it or something, so if he catches me here again I can pretty much say goodbye to ever going outside again! I'll come here again when I can though. We should hang out sometime, you seem cool!" A fleeting, amused chuckle resonated in Alfred's throat, punctuating his hasty explanation.

"Okay, that sounds like fun! I hope you don't get in trouble, go before it's too late!" Matthew hollered back, raising his hand once more in a farewell wave.

"Thanks! Seeya around!" Alfred called, returning the wave before he pivoted about face and bolted off of the shore, up the dirt path and back onto the sidewalk, reaching his house in a matter of five minutes.

A heavy, relieved sigh escaped him as he leapt up the porch steps, eyeing the vacant driveway that his father's car usually occupied. A party erupted in his mind as he keyed the front door, crossing the threshold and immediately slipping out of his beat-up canvas sneakers, depositing them by the door before sliding the forest-green backpack off of his back and slinging it onto the living room's beige sofa. His stomach grumbled in protest as the adrenaline that had spiked his blood just a few moments ago began to ebb away; before settling down to a formidable pile of homework, he strutted into the kitchen and yanked the fridge door open, appraising the contents for a few moments. He snatched a crimson can of cola and a bag of green grapes off the second shelf before nudging the door shut with his hip, popping the tab on the top of his can and stealing a swig of sweet, caramelized liquid. An audible creak that signaled the front door opening reverberated through the whole first story of the quaint house as Alfred stepped into the foyer to welcome his parent home. _He must've got off early, he's not supposed to be here for another ten minutes._

Arthur waltzed through the door, closing it on his way across the threshold as he dropped a copper-hued suitcase on the table that had been designated for mail years ago. An ardent smile ghosted across his thin lips as his harlequin-green eyes met Alfred's clarion cerulean. "Afternoon, my boy," he acknowledged the shorter, pride coloring his tone as he curled an arm around his son, squeezing him for just a moment.

"Hey, Dad," Alfred returned, embracing his father, "there's something I need to talk to you about, but you have to promise not to get mad at me."

One thick brow arched suspiciously as Arthur made his way over to the couch, taking a seat beside Alfred's backpack. "Alright then, I promise I won't get angry. Did you get in trouble at school again?"

The citrine-haired boy shook his head, his cowlick bouncing comically with the movement as he placed his soda and grapes beside his father's briefcase. "It's nothing like that. It's more like, I have something I need to ask you about but it's about something that you don't like. I don't really understand why you don't like this thing, either, and that's why I'm asking."

Arthur's brow furrowed reflexively, his luminescent eyes seeming to lose their luster as he processed his son's vague statements. "Is this about that damned lake?" he asked bluntly, arms folding across his chest.

Alfred's eyes snapped abruptly to his sock feet, apparently scrutinizing each and every individual fiber that concealed his toes. His hands clasped behind his back as he discovered his voice, which had found a cozy hiding spot somewhere in between his epiglottis and uvula. "Y-Yes… b-but you promised not to get mad, so… you can't get mad at me for just asking! I d-don't really get why you hate that lake so much."

He chanced a glance up at his father, noticing the tight rigidity that the man's jaw had developed in the span of time he had spent gazing at the ground. Arthur opened his mouth and appeared as if he were about to spit venom before shutting it, fingers digging into the skin of his arm as he grappled for composure. "You could get hurt," he managed stiffly, fidgeting slightly in his seat.

"Is that the only reason, Dad? I really like to go to that lake, you know, it's like a really awesome thinking spot," Alfred remarked as his hands unclenched, returning to his sides; newfound determination gamboled within his cornflower irises, aurora lights seeming to flash across his eyes. "I'm not a baby anymore, I won't get hurt!"

"You don't know that!" Arthur roared, hopping to his feet as his arms uncurled, hands balling instantly into fists. "I forbade you from going anywhere near that lake, Alfred! Can't you listen to me just this once and heed my words?"

Furious tears welled behind Alfred's eyes as all of the muscles in his jaw tightened. "You said you wouldn't get mad. _You promised, _and you couldn't even do that for me_._ I don't get why you're so worked up over this stupid lake, but whatever! It's obvious I won't ever get the _real_ answer out of you, Dad! You'll just get mad at me again!"

Alfred flew toward the stairs, taking the stout flight two at a time before Arthur could react. His pinched expression broke as his son bellowed, "_And leave me alone!"_ before slamming the door to his bedroom, his words dripping with naïve vehemence. He let himself fall to his knees, his head dropping into his hands. "What the hell have I done…? Why couldn't I have remained calm…?"

As if in reply, the repressed image of a man with wavy blonde hair and the clearest, sky-blue eyes surfaced in his mind; Arthur jerked his head back and forth, struggling to regain his composure as he stood to his feet once again, his polished shoes dragging against the floor as he retreated into the studious confines of his office. He shut the door but left it open a tiny crack, in case Alfred decided to call for him, as he jerked his swivel chair out and perched in it, slumping against its sienna leather. A million self-defeating thoughts whipped through his mind as he flicked on the nearby miniature office lamp, arching over the tidy stack of paperwork that made itself at home in the middle of his desk. He let his work envelope him until he felt as if the scene that had exploded in the center of his living room earlier that day had happened decades ago, quelling the acrimonious storm in his head and alerting him to the shameful beat of his heart. _I need to go apologize. Poor Alfred… I'm the worst father that has ever walked this earth._

He switched off the desk light as he withdrew from his office, forcing himself not to run as he composedly ascended the stairs, a hand carding through his aureolin hair. He gulped down the nervous lump that had lodged itself in his throat as he halted for a moment at the door that separated him from his son. He breathed deep as he pushed the door open. "Alfred, I'm sor—"

The fingers of frenzied panic massaged Arthur's spine, suffusing through all of the nerve connections in his body and numbing his limbs as his eyes swept over the still room, his apology meeting its demise on his tongue. The blonde boy in which he had invested the essence of his life and love had vanished from the room, leaving only a suggestive open window and an unmade bed in his abbreviated wake. "No, no no no, this can't be happening," Arthur mumbled to himself as he darted over to the window, his periphery tilting down to find an immense string of linens tied together, akin to the type of stunt that would only be demonstrated in movies, dangling safely to the grass below. "No…. He… he ran away…."

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><p><em>To be continued.<em>


	3. Monsieur Bonnefoy

_**Disclaimer:** I don't own Hetalia. Copyrights go to Hidekaz Himaruya.  
>As always, reviews = love. They keep me writing.<br>Enjoy!~_

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><p><em>Monsieur Bonnefoy.<em>

The foggy sliver of yellowed crescent moon hanging languidly in the midnight sky did nothing to illuminate the dirt path that Alfred found himself bolting across. Fiery, frustrated tears blurred his periphery as abbreviated flashbacks of the fight between him and his father relentlessly flickered past his mind. He found his feet halt automatically, just a few feet before the sand that rimmed the lake morphed into calm water that lapped its shore. _There's something about this lake that he doesn't want me to find out about, that's _got_ to be it. He's never yelled at me like that before._

He slipped his shoes and socks off before pacing closer to the edge of the sand, crouching down as his right hand's pointer finger began to trace unintelligible patterns in the damp surface. _I can't go back there. Not for a while anyway… maybe not for forever. Dad hates me by now, I'm sure of it! …maybe he never loved me in the first place. _Fresh tears stung Alfred's vibrant azure eyes at the thought, adding a pink tinge to his milky corneas; his gaze shifted upward, staring across the lake to the empty opposite shore. A novel idea struck him as he brushed off the fine particles of sand from his right hand, standing up straight and clutching his shoes. He took a step back for momentum's sake and broke into a dash, headed straight for the still cobalt waters directly in front of him.

A surprised gasp stifled in his throat as the unexpectedly cool water immediately soaked through any part of his clothes that it touched, though it did not impede his advancement. He thanked God that the lake was relatively shallow, reaching the middle of his chest at its heart. Chilly tremors wracked his frame as he emerged unscathed on the other side, wringing out his clothes and once again sliding on his socks and shoes. His chest heaved in relief as he espied a dirt trail similar to the one on his side of the lake that he had familiarized himself with, following it like a dog with a bone dangling in front of its nose.

The brightly-lit square of a quaint country town unfurled in front of Alfred as he scaled a diminutive hill, stealing away all of the breath in his lungs. He wandered straight toward a marvelous fountain in the center of the square, its clear, purified water twinkling in the artificial light. Most of the passersby stared at the half-drenched child that had discovered this town off of the beaten path; Alfred was able to catch a few clips and phrases of those who whispered about him—"Where did that child come from?" "He resembles that Williams kid, doesn't he? Is he a relative?" "No, he looks like _Monsieur Bonnefoy_!"

An airy, moderate voice, louder than the rest, sliced through the useless ramblings of the townspeople, forcing Alfred to turn about face: _"Bon soir, _little boy. I don't remember ever seeing you here before… why are your clothes soaked?"

A blonde man towered over him, his wheat-hued, chin-length wavy hair pulled into a loose ponytail and secured with a decorative red, white, and blue ribbon. An odd expression played across the man's face as his quartzite sky eyes met Alfred's, the color of his irises almost an exact copy of the boy's own. Alfred scrambled for words, his teeth cutting the inside of his cheek nervously. "Um, I kinda swam through a lake because my dad's mad at me and I kinda ran away from home… kinda."

"Oh?" the man's face transformed as a warmhearted expression of understanding overtook his defined features. "It sounds like you're in a little predicament, _hmm?_"

Alfred nodded, his eyes flickering to the cobbled street underfoot and examining the different shapes and sizes of the cemented stones. "I can't go home. I don't know what I'm gonna do or where I'm gonna go, but I have to be strong…! That's what Dad always told me."

The man reached out and patted the child's head, ruffling his hair; the affectionate gesture plucked Alfred's heartstrings, his chest aching from the raw familiarity that it evoked. Though he certainly knew that he had never met the blonde in front of him, some unknown electric current seemed to channel through the two: Alfred had the strangest urge to call the man something endearing and informal, such as 'pop,' though he bit back the word that began to form in his throat. "At least it's not the end of the world, _oui?_ Why don't you come with me and get cleaned up? I have a son around your age that you can play with. I'm sure he'd like the company."

Dodger blue eyes fluttered up to the man, alighting with newfound hope that welled behind his irises. "Yeah, I'd like that. If that's okay with you."

_"Mais bien sûr!" _the man replied emphatically, removing his hand from Alfred's hair and extending it to the boy. "I would not offer if it were not all right! By the way, I am Francis Bonnefoy. _Et vous, le petit garçon?"_

Alfred clutched Francis's long-fingered hand, letting his new acquaintance tow him along the uneven road leading away from the square. "I'm Alfred… Alfred Jones. Nice to meetcha."

Francis seemed to hesitate for a moment, turning away from Alfred to stare in front of them before he responded, his voice adopting a strange shaky tone that it lacked before. "Nice to meet you too, Alfred…!"

A huge home unfolded in front of them after walking in silence for a few moments. Fluorescent light spilled from the arched French windows, fashioning neat amber pools against the soft grass on the lawn. A sly grin slithered across Francis's lips as he heard the distinct sound of an innocent gasp emit from the boy beside him. He led Alfred through the ivory double doors that served as the main entrance, kicking his shoes off at the base of a coat tree. "Matthieu! Where are you? Come down to the foyer, _s'il vous plaît!" _Francis called, unfastening the ribbon that held his hair back as Alfred disposed of his shoes that appeared tattered and worn compared to the others at the bottom of the coat tree.

Distant footsteps echoed through the home, sounding against the vaulted ceilings and the connected first story before Matthew appeared, waltzing with almost grace for an eight-year-old down the main staircase that stretched in front of Francis and Alfred. "Alfred? How did you get here?" A pair of indigo eyes scrutinized Alfred as Matthew scurried right up to him, abashed astonishment threaded through his voice.

"Oh? You two have met before?" Francis interjected before Alfred could explain, an interrogative flavescent brow quirking as he curiously watched his son.

Matthew nodded, glancing up to his father for the duration of his spiel, "Yeah, I went down to that lake the other day, remember? You actually gave me permission to go down there since it was really foggy, and you know how I like fog. That's where I saw Alfred, but he was on the other side of the lake." His periphery tilted from Francis's face to Alfred's, a shy smile upturning the corners of his mouth. "It's neat that you're here, Al!"

A triumphant chuckle resonated in Alfred's throat as a grin as wide as the aforementioned lake itself spread across his face. "Thanks, Mattie. I crossed the lake and came here because my dad got mad at me so I ran away… I'm pretty sure he doesn't want anything to do with me after I made him so angry like that... I ended up in the middle of the town when your dad found me."

Matthew moved toward Francis, wrapping an arm around his sinewy waist in a grateful embrace. "Thanks for bringing him here, Papa!" He looked away from Alfred to smile at his father, the one curly strand that stuck up from the rest of his hair bouncing in front of his forehead.

Francis patted Matthew's head gently before nodding, returning the smile. "It wasn't a problem, Matthieu! Now, I have some business to attend to before bed, do you think you could show Alfred to the guest room for the night? I'm sure he's tired, as are you! Your glasses don't hide those dark circles under your eyes, _mon cher."_

_"Oui,_ Papa," Matthew nodded, uncurling his arm from around his father and taking a few steps toward the stairs before motioning for his friend to follow. "The guest room's right beside mine upstairs."

Alfred tailed Matthew up the winding staircase and down the longest hallway that he had ever seen in someone's house until the other stopped in front of a closed door. He prodded it open and flicked on the light before entering, pivoting to face Alfred. "You can sleep here tonight. I'll come wake you up in the morning for breakfast! Maybe Papa will make pancakes since you're here!"

"Thanks for being so nice to me even though we don't really know much about each other yet, Mattie," Alfred mused gratefully, his crystal eyes darting around the poshly-decorated room: he felt like he had been taken to a hotel room instead of the guest room in Matthew's home. "Sorry I kinda butted into your house tonight. I didn't think I was really gonna run away until I had climbed down from my window… and the first place I went was to the lake… I don't even know what made me cross it."

A hand flitted through the air, as if dismissing Alfred's apology. "There's nothing to be sorry for, Al! This is kinda like a sleepover, isn't it? I'm really glad you came here, I haven't had a friend over in forever. Everyone at my school ignores me."

"Kids are really mean, huh?" Alfred remarked before a yawn betrayed him, his right hand popping up to cover his mouth. "Oh wow, I didn't know how tired I was…."

Matthew grinned sheepishly before his features illuminated with an idea. "Oh, wait here! I'll get you some pajamas you can borrow, and then you can get some sleep."

He scampered out of the room and within a minute or two he returned, clutching a folded pile of clean clothes. "Sleep tight, 'kay? _Bon nuit_," Matthew stated, holding out the clothes to the other.

Alfred nodded, taking the stack of pajamas. "Thanks, Mattie. Ni-Night."

Matthew turned and strutted out of the room, lifting his rounded glasses and wiping the developing sleep from his eyes, partially closing the door but leaving it cracked. Alfred scrambled to change out of his damp clothes, leaving them in an untidy pile on the floor as he pulled on the comfortable pants and t-shirt that Matthew had brought him. He had to climb up onto the bed that stood to about his nose, burrowing in the neatly-made covers. A wave of nostalgia swept over him as he settled into the fluffy bed, tugging the pillows down to cradle his head comfortably. He almost felt as if he had been in this house before, though he knew that he never had. The image of his father conjured in the abyssal cavern of his mind, standing beside his bedroom window and wearing an expression of pure despondence; tears welled in his eyes but he brushed them away, turning his face into the pillow under his head. _Goodnight, Dad._

The faint, accented voice of Matthew's father reverberated through the house from downstairs, reaching Alfred as he drifted off into a fuzzy sleep: "Arthur? It's Francis."

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><p><em>To be continued.<em>

_Translations (if needed):  
>Bon soir = Good evening<br>Mais bien sûr = But of course  
>Et vous, le petit garçon = And you, little boy<br>S'il vous plaît = Please  
>Bon nuit = Good night<em>


	4. Two Broken Halves…

_**Disclaimer:** I don't own Hetalia. Copyrights go to Hidekaz Himaruya.  
>I kept picturing Iggy in his Italian costume while writing this. xP Sappy chapter is sappy.<br>As always, reviews = love. They keep me writing.  
>Enjoy!~<em>

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><p><em>Two Broken Halves…<em>

Opalescent raindrops streaked across the polished windows that adorned Francis's house, a faint pitter-patter from the shower resonating in all of the hallways and rooms. Salt and pepper storm clouds obscured the sun, casting the earth in a charcoal light. Matthew had taken Alfred on an abbreviated tour of the house before settling into one of the sitting rooms in the back, dominated by a huge flatscreen television and more video game consoles than Alfred thought imaginable: it could have easily put his collection to shame. "Wow, you have a whole lot of games, Mattie! That's crazy," he breathed, plopping down on the floor about two feet away from the television screen.

An eloquent chuckle reverberated in Matthew's throat as he tossed a wireless controller to his newfound friend, taking a seat beside him with his own controller in his hands. "It's amazing that Papa bought all of these on his own. Game consoles are really expensive."

Alfred nodded in understanding, his mind flashing back to his beat-up Xbox system perched on one of the shelves in the glass-encased entertainment center in the middle of his living room at home. "Yeah, it really sucks. Especially when a new one comes out! I always have to wait for a price drop or whatever before I can get anything."

"That's what we do too," Matthew remarked, toggling between menu screens after the game decided to load and setting up a versus match between him and Alfred.

"Oh! I guess I just assumed you bought all your stuff right when it came out," Alfred laughed nervously, picking out a character from the square menu at the bottom of the screen.

Just as the game commenced, right after the hidden announcer yelled "Fight!" Francis leaned into the room, having to talk over the game's booming sound effects. "Boys, come with me for a little while, and after that you can continue your game. We have to talk."

Matthew jabbed the pause button as he hopped to his feet, eyes narrowed and a brow arched in suspicion. _"D'accord, Papa,"_ he replied as Francis disappeared from the door's archway, pivoting about face and striding out of the room.

Alfred followed suit, tailing Matthew into an expansive dining room. An elegant chandelier hung suspended from the ceiling, dappled by miniscule lights and cut crystal. A long, glass-top table sat at the heart of the room, bisecting its rectangularity. His eyes swept the room, finding Francis first before he noticed the visitor sitting on the opposite side of the table, heart automatically beating double time in his chest as adrenaline began to spike his blood. "D-Dad? How did…."

Arthur held up a hand to silence his son, beckoning him over before folding his hands against the tabletop. "It doesn't matter. I'm just glad you're safe, Alfred."

Tears blurred Alfred's vision as he ambled over, sliding into the seat next to his father. "I-I'm sorry for running away! I know you've told me a _million times _not to but you were so mad at me for going to the lake and I didn't know what to do, I didn't want to stay at home and annoy you any more than I already did so—" His constant stream of apologies died in his throat as Arthur shook his head, raising one finger to Alfred's lips.

"Alfred, like I said right now that doesn't matter. You're in no trouble for running away. I pushed you to do that… and I'm truly sorry. You shouldn't have to ever feel the need to run away from your own home. I promise that this will never happen again." Raw guilt shimmered in Arthur's chartreuse eyes as he stared down at his son, his hands clasping together once again. "Now, I think we both owe our thanks to Francis and Matthew for accommodating you in their home last night."

Alfred's eyes abandoned his father's face to turn to Francis, blinking away a few tears that threatened to streak down his cheek. "Thank you, Mister Francis and Mattie. I'm sorry."

Francis whipped a hand through the air as if to dismiss Alfred's shaky apology. "No need to apologize, _petit _Alfred! It wasn't a problem at all."

Distant realization clicked in Alfred's head as Francis stopped talking, though a shade of his voice echoed through the abyss of Alfred's mind. "Wait… Mister Francis, how did you know who my dad was? I didn't say anything about him last night, not his name or nothin'… but you called him by his name last night on the phone. I heard you before I fell asleep."

He noticed Francis's eyes dart from him to his father for a fraction of a moment before glancing back to him. "You can say that we have already met, long before you were born."

"Francis," Arthur interjected before Alfred could retort, his emerald eyes locking with the aquamarine of the Frenchman sitting in front of him, "I think it's time to stop being vague for once and tell him the truth. Both of them, actually."

A solemn expression overtook Francis's features as his periphery shifted to Matthew, to Alfred, and finally back to Arthur. "…there would be no way to hide it from them forever, _oui?_ It would be cruel to do so."

Arthur nodded, clearing his throat as his hands unfolded. "Alfred," he spoke, an edge of indescribable emotion prevalent in his tone, "did you ever wonder why you only have one parent, while the other children you've met usually have a mother and father?"

"Yeah, a few times," Alfred answered, robin's egg-hued eyes narrowing in confusion, "but why does that matter right now?"

Arthur tipped his head toward Francis before he replied, "It matters right at this exact moment because… Francis and Matthew have something to do with it. They are the other half of our family."

Alfred's expression completely broke on the last syllable of his father's life-altering statement. He could not recall a time when he felt so speechless, jarred completely from what he thought was normal: his periphery shifted from Arthur to Francis, who couldn't help but to beam at him, and then to Matthew, who appeared just as starstruck as he himself felt. The feeling of nostalgia that seemed to hum through the high-ceilinged rooms of this endowed home abruptly made sense, as if someone had tugged on a light bulb in the pitch blackness of his mind. "S-So…" Alfred managed to stammer after a few long, silent moments elapsed, broken only by the faint spattering of rain against windows, "Mister Francis would be my mom… or my other dad. And Mattie's my brother…?"

"That would be correct," Arthur affirmed with a nod.

"Why… why didn't you tell me about this before? I thought it was just you and me all this time… what happened to our family?" Alfred asked, his voice ascending in octaves as he reached the end of his question.

With a quick glimpse in Francis's direction, a malignant sigh heaved from Arthur before he began, "I was going to wait until you came of age to tell you. I figured you would have an easier time wrapping your head around it when you're older instead of now, but in any case it is inevitable that you would find out sooner or later. Our family disintegrated because of my doing… I pushed Francis away, when you boys were two years old. It's hard to believe that it's already been six years since that happened… it feels like it's been a bloody eternity…."

Francis reached across the table, prying one of Arthur's hands free and grasping it, drawing circles across the back of his hand with his thumb in a soothing gesture. "Alfred and Matthieu… I hope that you can forgive us one day. We hopped into parenthood when we weren't ready, and we both cracked underneath the pressure of raising and being responsible for two children that we ourselves brought into the world! So… we split the responsibility. I took leave with you, Matthieu, and Arthur was left with Alfred, and somehow… it was easier that way. For once in our lives, we weren't down each others' throats day in and day out though we kept the communication lines open. It has been hard being away, hasn't it, _mon chou?"_ Francis's dodger blue eyes locked with Arthur's faceted peridot, and in that moment it felt as if the hands of time whirred counterclockwise: instead of seeing the straight-laced gentleman that sat across the table, he envisioned the reckless blonde that had captivated his heart in one abnormal way or another countless years ago, the one that could bark insults in one breath and speak sweet nothings in another.

Arthur could only nod, his viridian irises swimming though he never broke eye contact. One flaxen brow quirked as Alfred's eyes slid from his father to Francis and back again, attempting to comprehend everything that had come to pass in the past ten minutes. "Okay, so we're all family. What does that mean though? Are we all gonna live together and stuff? What's gonna happen now?"

Francis's eyes flashed from Arthur's face to Alfred's, a tenderhearted smile breaking across his countenance as he took notice for the first time since they've been together in the dining room of how similar the two looked when sitting almost shoulder to shoulder, except that the hue of the boy's eyes matched his own. "It's up to _ton __père_, but if you would like, you both can move into my home—we have more than enough room to share."

"If Alfred wants to move in and Matthew is fine with it, then we will live here," Arthur stated ultimately, his eyes trailing first to the son that he had painstakingly raised and then to the son that he had spent limited time with throughout the current duration of his life.

Alfred nodded with his brother simultaneously, a huge grin upturning the corners of his lips. "Y-Yeah I wanna move in!"

"It'd be fun to have our family back together," Matthew mused, adjusting to perch on his knees to grant him a few inches of height that he lacked before. "Besides, I really want to get to know my brother… and my other papa."

An amused chuckle waltzed in Francis's throat as he slid out of his chair and onto his feet. "I think it's settled then, don't you think _mon cher?"_ he inquired as he rounded the table, crouching and throwing an arm around Alfred and Arthur's shoulders in an embrace.

Matthew hopped down from his chair, scuttling to Alfred's side as he reached out and clutched his hand, tugging him away from the table. "C'mon, _mon frère!_ Let's go finish our game, _oui?"_

"Yeah! I almost forgot about that," Alfred laughed as the two left the room, no doubt to return to the sitting room in which Francis had found them earlier.

Arthur turned to the man that he had longed for every day for the past six years, quivering arms encircling the other's midsection in a tight hug. His chin came to rest on Francis's shoulder as elated tears cascaded down his cheeks. "I-I've missed you," he whispered into his counterpart's ear, tucking away a few stray strands of golden hair behind Francis's ear.

"So I was not the only one! I have missed you too, _mon amour…_ much more than you will ever give me credit for," Francis responded, planting a kiss to the pliable skin of Arthur's temple as his hand flitted up to the other blonde's head, his sinewy fingers carding through choppy saffron.

They stayed like that for what felt like centuries: Francis rubbed Arthur's trembling shoulders, whispering native French into the shell of his ear until Arthur pulled away to look at the Frenchman full in the face, his moody harlequin eyes rimmed with scarlet. "I love—"

Before Arthur could complete his thought Francis claimed his lips, ultimately silencing the shorter. Their kiss seemed to embody everything that had remained unspoken between them in the past six years, climactically bringing them together in the mingling throes of pure love and crimson infatuation. "You don't have to say it, _mon Angleterre,_ I know. I love you too."

A pleased grin traipsed across Arthur's face as he abandoned his gentlemanly ways if for just a few uncharacteristic moments, regressing into the reckless, basket case persona in which Francis had met him. Their eyes met as Arthur held up his hand in front of Francis's chest. "Two broken halves…"

"…are now a complete whole," Francis finished, ecstatic sky eyes shimmering with tears as his hand rose to meet Arthur's, fingers lacing together as if they had been predestined to intertwine.

* * *

><p><em>Fin.<em>


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